


Tin Man and Cage of Flames

by palomino333



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Childhood Sweethearts, Children, Cyborgs, F/M, Family Feels, Japanese-American Character, Married Life, Original Character(s), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War takes a man's humanity. It's just logical, then, that mail call should bring it back for a little while. Fox-verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Man and Cage of Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This has some continuity from Comfort Zone and Mother Fox. Spy doesn't tell Sniper about the pictures because he hadn't looked at them.

Engineer sighed in content as he wiped his brow. He had just completed his routine inspection of the BLU base's interior sentries. This machine in question had been suffering from the inability to complete its semi-circular rotation. After some TLC from its creator's wrench, however, it was as good as new. The search and repair mission had taken the majority of the day, but it had not been without merit. He had to admit, he loved his machines in his own way.

Contrary to the jokes that Scout and Spy tended to make about him, he neither considered them human, nor lusted after them. Besides, the only machine he had ever named had been his very first invention, and that had been after his mother. If anything, he was becoming more of a machine himself. The Gunslinger was evident of that. He'd lost his arm weeks ago, and had decided it would be best if he put its stump to good use. Still, it made him a little uneasy at times to know that he had lost a natural part of himself. It also had caused quite a chewing-out from Medic. Engineer had argued that he had had the situation in control, courtesy of the dispenser he had built, but the doctor had still been rather angered. "If you get blood poisoning from treating your body like a toy, I wash mein hands of it!" Engineer had really wanted to point out that hand washing would be completely out of the question while the man he was addressing was wearing gloves. Considering the fact that Medic had been waving a syringe furiously while yelling at the Texan, he had thought better of it.

"MAIL CALL! EITHER YOU LADIES ARE IN THE REC ROOM AT 1900 HOURS ON THE DOT, OR YOUR MAIL'S GETTING READ! YOU KNOW WHO I'M TALKING ABOUT, SHEILA!"

As he stood and stretched, Engineer once again found himself contemplating two things. The first was how Soldier never managed to scream himself hoarse. The second was how he never managed to be deafened by the man. It wasn't that Engie didn't like the man. Soldier was dedicated to his work, and he respected that. What he didn't respect, however, was the treatment that he tended to give the eight other classes, especially considering the fact that he wasn't their leader, be it through technicalities (which Spy always rubbed in), or popularity (which Scout especially went on about).

Engineer wiped his hands off on an already grease-stained rag before turning to depart. He grimaced as he remembered the incident when Scout had been forced to pay for his ranting and raving.

XXXXXX

The boy had been late to pick up his mail, and so Soldier had taken it upon himself to read the loving words of his mother over the inter com. It really wasn't that funny. The pet names that were said with a fake feminine voice by the helmeted man gave Engineer a bad taste in his mouth. That letter had been Scout's business only.

He tried to intervene, and so did Sniper, who had been reading his own letter from his parents. Sniper was quicker, and the situation dissolved into the Aussie and the military man getting into a fist fight that knocked out four of Soldier's teeth and dislocated his right shoulder, and fractured one of Sniper's ribs, as well as his nose. By the time Heavy broke them apart, the rec room carpet was drenched with blood.

Medic was infuriated by the utterly unneeded bloodshed, especially so at Sniper for some reason Engineer even presently couldn't figure out. The doctor kept reminding the man over and over in an aggravated tone about being careful while the one being addressed held a cloth to his bloodied nose. It reminded Engie slightly of a protective mother hen, and Demoman began joking about it.

Soldier and Sniper were healed, but they still were angry with one another. They spent the rest of the day avoiding each other. Engineer, Pyro, Medic, and Heavy cleaned up the mess. While Medic muttered under his breath about the fight to Heavy, who was trying his best to calm him down, Engineer murmured to Pyro with a sardonic smile, "So, how're you doing?" Pyro's muffled laughter was cause enough for his friend's smile to become a genuine one.

After the work was finished, Engineer and Pyro encountered Spy carrying a limp Scout to his room. Spy, who was wearing a slight smirk, shook his head before either could even have asked. "He tried to teach Soldier a lesson. Needless to say, he was forced to do 2000 pushups. I managed to save him, but he will still sleep well tonight."

XXXXXX

Engineer broke through the last of the memory by hopping down a short flight of stairs, and landing with a slight grunt. Scout had been rather sore the following day, but he had recovered by mid-afternoon. Soldier and Sniper had gotten over their fight as the days went by, but it wasn't surprising that Soldier decided to do this now. He was a proud man that held a grudge well. Sniper was also that way, but he never admitted it. He always said that he never let his emotions get in the way of his work.

Engineer called bullshit. There was a reason why Sniper used his submachine gun when a headshot would have been just as easy: he got frustrated from time to time. Hopefully, Sniper would be fast enough to grab his mail before Soldier could rifle through it. Unfortunately, no man could claim another man's mail. Soldier was fiercely against it, saying it was a federal offense to go through the mail of others…Needless to say, Soldier had already violated that himself, and besides, the laws of the American government certainly did not apply to mail from foreign countries, not that Soldier was considering that, of course.

"Hey, slow down there!"

Engineer stopped and turned to the side with a smirk. "Wouldn't have to if you'd pick up the pace!"

Pyro chuckled as he emerged from the hallway, his mask nestled in the crook of his right arm. "You aren't the one who has to wear this!" Mail call was one of the very few times Pyro took his mask off. Black stains were on his pale face. His jet black hair was nowhere to be seen due to his habit of shaving it off to prevent a fire hazard. His dark, slanted eyes shone brightly with mischief.

"True," the Texan replied, "but at least yours is removable." He clenched his mechanical fist, and held it in the air to reinforce his point.

Pyro looked ready to retort, but decided against it. "Okay, you win this round." The two continued down the stairs, laughing and carrying on all the way.

XXXXXX

"Give me my letter, ya bloody wanker!" Sniper snapped, yanking it out of Soldier's hand. His yell sounded slightly off-tone because of his being winded from running all the way from his nest.

Soldier gave him a disgruntled look before seizing his wrist. "MAGGOT! Is that any way to speak to an officer?"

A syringe flew and hit the wall directly in-between them, causing the two to turn and look in surprise at Medic. Instead of appearing angry as he was during the previous mail call, the Medic's face was serene as he cross-legged net to Heavy, his own open letter in one hand, and his syringe gun in the other. "If either of you decides to break the silence with that incessant yelling again, the next syringe is going into your skin."

Soldier and Sniper exchanged a confused glance before Sniper replied, "You can't be serious, mate."

"Oh, I'm quite serious. I do not think any of us enjoy this sort of disturbance while we have this precious time to communicate with our families." Medic's eyes narrowed as he made that reply. Everyone, save Soldier and Sniper, nodded in agreement.

Sniper sighed. "All right, then." A moment of silence passed, and Sniper grew irritated once more. "Ya can let go of my wrist now."

Soldier cast a calculating glance between his target and his attacker, and released the former. "Fine, but I'm keeping my eyes on you," he jabbed a finger at Sniper, and went over to sit down on one of the hard wooden chairs scattered across the room. Sniper shrugged, and went to sit down near Medic, who gave him a look before turning back to his letter. The gun was sitting on the table before him.

Engineer shook his head after watching the scene. "Another day at the office." Pyro smirked, and turned his attention to opening his letter. Engineer's hard hat and goggles had joined his gas mask on the floor. Most of the BLU team had detached at least some of their battle gear for the occasion as pertained to their personal customs. Scout had removed his hat and earpiece. Soldier had removed his helmet. Medic had de-equipped the Medigun. Heavy had taken off his bandolier.

With the comfortable sound of the overhead fans whirring, and the familiar smell of Spy's cigarette smoke filling the air, Engineer began to read what his wife had sent him. It wasn't much, since a good portion of the words were censored out. Considering the fact that mail call was held only once a month, however, reading what remained of her words was as good as gold. The importance of the occasion was enhanced by their last meeting. It hadn't begun as pleasant, but it had ended in a satisfactory way. It all had had to do with the very mechanism that gripped one side of the parchment: the Gunslinger.

XXXXXX

As it turned out, Dell had met his bride by chance. He had been far from home, securing another of his many PhD's in the big town of Houston. After completing a rather long and grueling morning study session, he had found himself in the mood for a good beer, and decided to go and purchase a few bottles.

Along the way, he met a young woman, who appeared flustered and close to tears. She explained that she was looking for a job, and asked if he knew anywhere that needed extra help. Judging by her rather cheap and shabby-looking clothes, she was at the end of her rope. Unfortunately, one of the main factors that had been working against her wasn't something she couldn't control. Her face was prematurely aged with stress lines, and wrinkles from too much exposure to the sun. Judging by her calloused hands, which she clasped in front her, the woman was no stranger to farm or ranch life.

Dell found that connection with her, and rather liked it. He didn't have too much in common with the local city slickers, save for a few things such as brains and the liking of alcohol. People like her didn't come by often, but when they did, he had a good time with them. Being the gentleman that he was, he ignored her bad looks, and assisted her in her search after introducing himself. Well, he sort of ignored them. He couldn't help but notice that it was a lot easier to look away from her while speaking. She told him that her name was Abigail Slater, and she didn't care what job she got, so long as she could earn a decent wage. He didn't question her on her economic situation; that would be rude.

In the end, Conagher and Slater's efforts paid off. She was given a job as a mail room clerk in an office building. The work would be vigorous, but she hadn't minded. She thanked her helper kindly, who in turn inquired as to whether he could show her around town sometime. Abigail accepted his offer in a heartbeat.

Over time, Dell got to know her better. She'd been a third generation farm girl. Her two unqualified brothers hadn't been successful with the farm's finances, and the family as a result lost everything. The three siblings had drifted between odd jobs to support their parents until each passed away from disease. The Slaters hadn't been able to afford much in the way of medical help. Once she had lost her mother and father, Abigail declared to her brothers that she had had enough of their foolish handling of money. If it hadn't been for their bumbling with the cash from the odd jobs, the family would have been able to manage at least a better lifestyle. The Slater boys then asked their defiant sister what she would do, and she replied that she would go to the city, and find work there.

Abigail still showed traces of that spark in her. After all, she could have just Houston after failing so many times at accomplishing her goal. Asking Conagher for help had caused her to swallow what was left of her pride, yet she still held her head up high. Dell liked that fire in her. He also didn't mind the fact that whenever he happened to mention what he was studying, she didn't put on a blank face and say, "Oh," like so many other girls, pretending to understand it. Instead, Abby would listen intently, her brow furrowed, and reply, "I'll admit I don't know what you're talking about, but if it gets the job done, it's worth the effort," or a similar comment.

Years later, the day came when she would have to eat her words. It was Dell's first trip home after installing the Gunslinger in his arm. He'd informed her ahead of time about the mechanism, but of course it wouldn't be the same as seeing it. Their two children, Gordon and Wilma, had been fascinated with it. Gordon kept going on and on about how his father looked like a superhero, and Wilma asked if she could paint it. At ages nine (Gordon) and seven (Wilma), they enjoyed the privilege of instant gratification. They didn't consider the fact that this inorganic material would always be a part of its creator's body. Abigail, however, did not have that luxury.

After sending the young ones to bed, the two had a serious conversation in the kitchen. "Dell, I'm starting to worry about you," his wife remarked in a low tone. Her arms were folded as she leaned against the kitchen counter. Her eyes were warily fixed on his inorganic arm.

"Ain't nothing different from building a sentry or a dispenser. It's for the war effort," he replied, gesturing around him for emphasis. Both knew very well that in the basement was his work bench. It was a duplicate of the one he used during his time with his team, and held a few prototype schematics that he'd either rejected or would rather not put at the risk of falling into enemy hands. The husks of his experimental workings were strewn about the room. A dispenser was positioned near it. Thanks to the machine, they had managed to heal their wailing son after he had fallen out of a tree, breaking his leg.

The basement wasn't the only place that held one of his inventions. Sentries were posted around the inside of the house just in case. Abigail and the children had grown used to their presence, their mother occasionally using their heat to dry clothes off. Abby flicked her gaze up to his face. "I understand that, but I don't like what it implies. What if next time it was your leg or your shoulder?" She pointed to each named body part in turn.

Dell backed up slightly, and lifted his arm so that the metal gleamed in the kitchen light. "You're afraid of me turning into a tin man, aren't ya?"

She gave a single nod. "I know your machines are your life, but this is something completely different," after a slight pause to swallow a sob that was building in her throat, she added in a choked up tone, "I just don't want you to forget who you are."

"Aw, don't cry, Abby," he soothed as he placed the palm of his human hand to her cheek, and wiped a tear that was about to slide out of the corner of her eye off with his thumb. As his hand moved to rest on her shoulder, she gripped it tightly with both of hers, her eyes wide. "It's still me, babe," he raised the Gunslinger, and held out it horizontally, its fingers open. She bit her lip as she stared at it, her left hand sliding off his wrist to curl itself through her wavy hair as she contemplated this.

Her husband waited patiently. It wasn't right to force her to make her decision. With a soft sigh, Abigail let go of her hair, and placed her organic hand on the man-made one. She gave a short intake of breath as the mechanical fingers softly coiled around it, and guided it to Dell's lips. Abigail let go of his human hand to fling her arm around him, burying her head in his shoulder. Dell responded by hugging her back tightly, and stroking her hair while keeping the Gunslinger decisively held at his side. "Abby," he whispered.

She raised her head to look at him, and meaningfully nodded. "I believe you."

XXXXXX

Reading about such a mundane topic of the school year starting anew, and Gordon and Wilma giving their mother a hard time about it, was a relief in its own right. Engineer considered an efficient way to educate the children on better behavior, but let it go so long as they went. Kids were kids. Speaking of kids…

He looked over at Pyro for a moment, who was giving his opened letter a soft kiss at the bottom. Pyro stuck his tongue out at his friend, and Engie laughed. Pyro wasn't as young as Scout, but he was close. The sad fact was, however, that while the latter was trying to his very best to be more mature (and clearly having problems achieving the goal), the former was determined to remain young. Engineer had gotten the story straight from the horse's mouth after getting to know the man. They'd both been shipped out to join the BLU team around the same time period. It also helped that they'd saved each other's rear ends on different occasions.

XXXXXX

Once upon a time, Pyro had been named Morgan Yomura. He still was, but that was moot as far as the mercenary life went. To say that he'd had a happy childhood would be telling half of a story of misfortune. It had started out well. His father had had a solid job, and the family of five, with two little boys and a little girl (him being the oldest), had lived a nice life in the city of San Francisco. That was, until after December 7, 1941. Pyro, or rather, Morgan, was a Japanese American child. His grandparents had immigrated to America from Japan long ago, making him a Sanisei. Following the Pearl Harbor attacks, his family had faced harsh prejudice, and later complete and utter ridicule when they were forced to move to an internment camp.

"Every day in that pen felt hotter than hell," Pyro had remarked bitterly to Engineer on a number of occasions. Life for Morgan became sad. He didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to go home. The innocence of childhood waned away for him too early, although he tried to find it in his parents and siblings. Still, no matter what effort he put into forgetting about the barbed wire that screened him away for the rest of the world.

It was within this cage that he met her. Morgan sat near a lass named Pamela Ashiyama in the camp's small school, and two became friends. They formed a bond with other young children their age, and enjoyed playing games with one another. It made the days go faster, and the barrier to not seem as bad when laughter was in the air. After the war ended, and they were finally released, Morgan and Pamela kept in touch with each other and their friends as they rebuilt their lives. Time passed, and the two fell in love. He had popped the question to her while on leave, and she had eagerly said yes. Their wedding date was set for the following year.

XXXXXX

Engineer knew very well that like himself and Abby, Morgan and Pamela had their own problems relating to the war, among other things. It proved they weren't perfect, and that was fine.

Pyro lifted up his mask, and placed it back upon his head. His constant wearing of it made it difficult to be heard. Even though his team was able to decipher the main part of his muffles, he still had write down what he was saying from time to time (much to his exasperation). Pyro never did tell Engineer why he compulsively wore his mask, but his friend could guess. The people that had been interned had never had a say in it.

Engineer cast a sweeping gaze around the rest of the room.

Spy was about halfway through the stack of letters that were piled next to him. Considering his bored gesture of resting his chin upon his hand while reading, it was clear to see that they were all love letters. Engineer smirked. Even if the Frenchman was on his death bed, he would never even think of settling down, although the "fast-paced" life of waltzing through endless scores of relationships was tiresome for him.

Sniper, his eyes squeezed shut, had his letter folded over in one hand. He was pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of the other. It was most likely an "encouraging" note from his father. Medic had his hand on his shoulder, and was speaking a low tone, most likely in an attempt to console him. Engineer frowned. Sniper kept a close link to his parents; they meant the world to him. The way his father treated him was completely unfair.

He caught a movement from out of the corner of his eye, and saw Soldier sliding his letter into his inner coat pocket. The man's face was completely unreadable, and he prided himself upon that, saying that he had always stayed one step ahead of the Nazis in Poland when they weren't able to read his thoughts.

Heavy was grinning broadly as he pored over his letter, which had most likely from been written by his wife. When Spy had found out about the Russian being married, he had joked that the lady must have mistakenly thought Heavy to be a pig at a market, and bought him instead. He had been lucky that he could cloak himself. Engineer smiled to himself as he remembered some nights he, Pyro, and Heavy would just kick back, and talk about their women for a while.

Demoman was alternating between giving spurts of laughter and making toasts to unseen people. His friends back in Scotland were probably relaying their latest exploits and victories to him, and he was joining in the celebration.

That left Scout, whose introduction came with a rather loud crumpling of paper that ended a toss that would have sailed all the way across the room, had Pyro not caught it with a muffled exclamation of what that was for. The Bostonian glared at him. "Make yourself useful, and burn it." Engineer sighed, and rose, making his way over to the young man. Scout's mail call days ranged from good, to bad, to in-between. It wasn't right to question him on his family situation, but some facts slipped out anyway.

"Now, ya know they mean ya well, son," he comforted as he sat next to him, his back against the wall.

Scout gave him a sideways look. "How many times have you said that to me now? It's getting old!'

"I'll keep saying it until ya believe me," he replied firmly, "Trust me, it could be worse." Then again, it was pretty bad already. Having a father that was rarely there was bad enough without having siblings to deal with. If one family member was hurt, it went downhill for everyone. Engineer just hoped that whoever Scout's father was would get his act together.

Scout rolled his eyes. "You trying to sound like my mom?"

Engineer jerked his thumb over to Soldier. "He does that better."

Scout punched his shoulder. "Aw, shut up about that already!" Engie saw his opportunity to cheer him up.

He leaned forward, and whispered, "Just imagine him in a dress." Scout wasn't able to contain himself. He rolled back and forth, holding his sides as he laughed. Spy, who was finding his far more entertaining than his letters, watched with a raised eyebrow. Engineer mouthed "the pictures" when Spy quizzically looked at him. Spy nodded with a knowing smile, and continued to watch Scout.

When Sniper asked what the fuss was about, Spy replied that it was just some lewd American joke. The Texan chuckled, and returned to Pyro, who seemed to be debating whether or not to follow through with Scout's request. Finally, he decided to leave it undamaged just in case the letter's recipient changed his mind. He signaled a thumbs up to the inventor, who returned it.

Back home they had their devoted lovers that gave boundless support and acceptance to their eccentric, if not borderline terrifying, professions and habits. Here they had a group that had their own special little kinks of their own. There was of course, the fact that they each owed their lives to one another. It was a dysfunctional life, but they carried on.


End file.
